


somewhere in time

by starlinks



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, M/M, Romance, yet another love story between two immortals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:48:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25929904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starlinks/pseuds/starlinks
Summary: twelve snapshots of yusuf and nicolo, somewhere in time. a tale of how two immortal enemies fall in love***He turns, and flips a coin to Yusuf.Yusuf accepts silently, as per tradition.“We should leave,” he says.“Where would we go?”“It doesn’t matter, does it?”
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 6
Kudos: 70





	somewhere in time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [guilty_heroes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/guilty_heroes/gifts).



> if you know me, you know that writing immortals falling in love is kinda my thing. so, enjoy! this was begging to be written after i watched the old guard earlier in the day. if you're subscribed me for pjo... i've got A LOT of that content coming soon. stay tuned.

i.

As far as their story goes, the first time Nicolo and Yusuf killed each other was in the battlefield; _not_ in the bedroom as some sort of a murder foreplay kink, as Nile would jokingly suggest later.

They were just faithful warriors following their people and what they believed in, really. The battle promised gore and glory, and they got both. 

It happened in less than a second. 

Nicolo ran a javelin through Yusuf’s heart, and Yusuf did the same to Nicolo’s with a spear. 

It wasn’t until the dust settled on the field and the sun set far beyond the horizon that Nicolo woke with a shaky breath next to the body of the man who killed him (and who he killed). Nicolo breathed deeply; he was still very much alive.

The other man was less fortunate.

It’s a shame, really, because even in death and covered in sweat and grime, the Muslim looked handsome and beautiful, a little like an angel in disguise. Nicolo had to spend days to shake off the sacrilegious thought on that one.

Nicolo glanced down, and saw the protrusion from his own chest. He pulled out the spear from his chest with a grunt, straightened his back, and shrugged off the pain. 

The wound closed.

 _It must be a sign_ , he thought _._ If it’s God’s will that he is resurrected after death, then the Italian Crusaders must be destined to win.

He looked at Yusuf, at his sharp jaw _made_ for butterfly kisses, and grimaced; it’s a waste of a life and a pretty face, but hey, all was fair in (love and) war. They were just doing what they were told.

Nicolo didn’t look back when he left to search for his compatriots, who had probably settled in a place not far off. 

The biggest mistake he made that day was not noticing Yusuf’s shuddering breath as his eyes fluttered open seconds later, confused and bewildered where the man he slain (also known as his murderer) disappeared to.

He, too, stood up, dusted off, and walked into the dark.

ii.

“You’re alive,” Nicolo says when they meet again on the battlefield years later.

“ _You_ are _alive,_ ” Yusuf repeats in accented Italian, personally affronted.

“You understand me?” Nicolo asks.

“Of course I learned the tongue of my enemy. I’ve got all the time in the world now.”

iii.

And then they see each other again. 

And again.

And again.

iv.

Each time, they kill one another.

v.

It isn’t until a couple of decades later when they talk again, realizing that neither is growing old. 

They meet in a bar by coincidence on neutral ground, somewhere in time, just the two of them being people instead of enemies. 

“Do you think there’s anyone like us, anywhere else in the world?”

“I hope not -- I won’t be able to stand another one of you. You’re an immortal pain in the ass. As much as they treat me with reverence, they doubt my abilities when it comes to all things concerning you.”

“Likewise,” he says, offering a snort. 

When they reminisce who said which line, all of that memory is lost to time. But somehow, one of them pulled out a _denier_ and bought the other a drink.

And the rest is history.

v.

“Do you still believe in it?”

“Believe in what?”

“The cause of the war. How we fight for our Gods.”

A beat.

“No, not really. Not anymore.”

“Then why are you still fighting? What are we still fighting for?”

“It’s all that I’ve ever known.”

“I suppose that’s true.”  
“What do _you_ fight for?”

“I don’t know. Like you, I don’t have anything else to live for. No one and nothing is out there for me anymore. But still, I can’t die, and everything else… they expire. I don’t. I never do. So I guess this is what I’ll do; it’s the only constant for me in the past one hundred years.”

“So we keep fighting?”

“So we keep fighting.”

They nod at each other, kill each other, leave, and then do it again.

vii.

Yusuf plays Nicolo a song on the citol, a sort of a medieval fiddle.

Nicolo pulls out a _denier_ and throws that into the air; Yusuf catches it with no effort. 

“A penny for your thought?” Nicolo says, and thinks himself clever for inventing the saying.

“Hm,” Yusuf considers. He likes the tradition that they started: the questions can range from _how do you want me to kill you next_ to _when do you think this will finally end_ to _which leader do you think is the biggest annoyance of them all_ , but there is no obligation or specifications to what or how he answers.The flexibility makes things easier.

“I’m just trying to remember some chords of a song; this is a strange new instrument, but I’m getting used to it. I remember some melodies from my childhood. I don’t want to forget them.”

“I see,” Nicolo quiets. “I like them,” he decides, and he means it. Yusuf doesn’t like to talk about his childhood and how the soldiers under the command of the Latin Church burned his village to the ground. But Nicolo knows about that, and he knows how Yusuf lost his family when he was seven from that.

Nicolo registers how the music is sweet. It’s just packed with nostalgia and longing. He feels it in his bones.

He yearns to ask Yusuf the question he has been pondering for the last few years: they are two of a kind (okay, so there are occasional flashes of other strange women who he suspects may be immortal, too, but neither him nor Nicolo has been too enthusiastic in locating them) and he doesn’t want to lose him. 

Sometimes at night, NIcolo thinks about how it can just be the two of them, forever. He won’t admit it, but the company isn’t bad at all.

In fact, there are more things he wants to do to Yusuf than he can vocalize or dare to imagine anywhere but on his cot, by himself, in the dark. But it can all crumble down if he lets it slip and tells Yusuf how he really feels. Yusuf would _probably_ freak and leave, so, it’s _probably_ good to shut up.

A citol wire wraps around his neck and he chokes to death.

When his eyelids flutter and he wakes, Nicolo scowls. “What is that for?”  
“You’re thinking too hard,” Yusuf says, holding a broken instrument. Nicolo feels bad that he’s so obviously distracted and Yusuf has to break his instrument to get his attention; he is so guilty that he doesn’t even have the heart to return the favor. Nicolo doesn’t quite feel like killing Yusuf anymore.

It’s strange.

“I said, you’re thinking too hard,” Yusuf repeats, “did you hear me?”

Nicolo did, but all he can manage is a small nod. 

It’s just that Yusuf is _awfully_ close to him and his eyes are so, _so_ intense.

Nicolo’s breath hitches.

Yusuf rolls his eyes. “You’re an idiot,” and he pulls Nicolo closer until their lips touch.

Oh.

_Oh._

viii.

Their bodies are pressed together on the hottest day of the summer, but neither of them minds.

Nicolo wants to kiss Yusuf and maybe do something more, but his lover is staring out at the window, into the midnight sea. 

The stars above are beautiful, gleaming down on them from the heavens. 

Nicolo doesn’t believe in a god anymore, but he wonders, still, if whoever is responsible for their condition is out there watching, judging. Is their union etched in these constellations? If so, how long will it last?

The sky says nothing back.

He turns, and flips a coin to Yusuf.

Yusuf accepts silently, as per tradition.

“We should leave,” he says.

“Where would we go?”

“It doesn’t matter, does it?”

Nicolo thinks. He’s never great with initiation, but there’s so much hope in Yusuf’s eyes, and by this point, it holds no more purpose for them to dwell on the battlefields. They’ve found new meanings of life in each other.

“I love you, Yusuf,” Nicolo admits.

He waits for a heartbeat.

“I love you, too.”

So it was decided.

ix.

They gather their things before daybreak, and they run. They never looked back.

It’s the beginning of an eternity.

x.

Four hundred years later, they meet a griefing Andromache of Scythia.

They don’t wait to imagine what it would have been like if they were to lose each other before agreeing to help her.

As they have come to learn, then, that all things die eventually.

But not today: today, they have each other. And if they are lucky, they can help Andromache find her other half, too.

xi.

A few more hundred years later, their group grows by another. The lad calls himself Booker.

“You know, I’ve been thinking,” Yusuf says.

“Shocker,” Nicolo hms.

Yusuf has the urge to shoot him, but he doesn’t want to wait for Nicolo to revive himself before he finishes his thought.

“Well, I’ll go by ‘Joe’ from now on.”

“Huh, okay.” Nicolo says, rolling his shoulder a little.

“Okay?”

“Yeah, okay. Go by whatever you want, I still love you all the same.”

“Do you want one, too?”

“Want what?”

“A modern nickname.”

Nicolo shrugs, “what do you have in mind?”

“How’s Nicky?”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

They go back to brandishing their weapons in comfortable silence. There’s a San Paolo raid waiting for them on the horizon. 

xii.

“Do you want to get married?”

“Is this what you call a proposal? I waited a thousand years for this?”

“You know I’m not great with words like you,” Nicky sighs.

“You just want to get your hands on all my assets when I die, don’t you?” Joe teases.

Nicky laughs for a second. “I mean, it’s legal now. You can be my spouse on paper.”

“Huh, that took what? Only a few thousand years?”

“Nine hundred and seven since we met.”

“Wow, I lost track.”

“You’re stalling. And I know you keep count.”

“You know it’s all just a label; we aren’t even real on paper. Besides, I still hate chapels. You already know that you are everything to me, Nicky: you are the air in my lungs, the blood in my veins. You’ve heard of this a million times. I don’t need to repeat myself.”

“We can just get a certificate in the courthouse,” Nicky says, “and I really don’t mind you saying these words to me again and again. I particularly like the metaphor of the Moon and the darkness.”

“Then I’ll make sure to write you another song when I get my hands on a guitar again,” Joe says, smiling, and then he leans in to kiss the corner of Nicky’s mouth. The frustrated edge melts. “”And excuse me, I’m just making this tough for you. It amuses me.”

“I can tell.”

Joe stands. “Well?” He offers Nicky his hand.

“What?” Nicky takes it without hesitancy and hoists himself up.

“Let’s go get married.”  
“Now?”

“Yeah, when else?”

“I don’t have our documents ready yet--”

“--We’ll figure something out.”

So they go, and it feels new and exciting as always, just like every day they spent together in the past millennium, and like every day they will be spending in the next.

**Author's Note:**

> please drop me a note or a kudo if you've enjoyed! i may have some more ideas for the two.


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